48 Mondays
by Mae1
Summary: How does one cope with the a broken heart? This is one character's story...


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Rating: PG-13   
  
**Thank you**: to Ev for beta reading and for her helpful contributions. 

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Monday comes and everything is wrong   
Dull and cold like late December dawn   
See your face and ask someone the time   
It's a good day for wishing you were mine   
I wish it all the time   
-**Emm Gryner**, _Serenade_   
_______________________

  
  
**8:33 a.m.** I awake to the sounds of my beeping alarm clock and the busy, car-filled streets below. I rub my tired eyes and yawn, a sign that another day of the empty routine known as my life has begun. I stand up and look around at the sad, enchanted space I occupy and for the three hundred thirty-sixth time, I start my day with the realization that you are not here with me.   
  
**10:08 a.m.** I step out of the shower. I decided to take a long one because I thought that if I stayed in long enough, somehow, I'd wash away all my mistakes and regrets. Yet thirty minutes later, I'm the same man that went in-imperfect, fragile, and weak. And I know, that it will take more than water to cleanse me of my sins and my failures…and my memories of you.   
  
**10:30 a.m.** I am dressed in my best suit. You remember, the one I wore to Grace's wedding. If you don't, you should. You picked it out. I'm wearing it because I'm meeting with "important" clients today. That's a stupid thing to say because shouldn't _all_ my clients be important? That _is_ my job, right? To make people feel like they are important, that they are worth something. I'm a lawyer. I'm supposed to help improve the human condition. But before I can do that for anyone else, I have to do that for myself.   
  
**11:46 a.m.** I'm sitting in my office with the morning paper on my desk and a cup of coffee in my hands. I read through the front-page news and immediately, something pops out at me-the date. February 23rd. And then it dawns on me-today is my birthday. I am thirty years old. I forgot my own birthday. It figures, though. Some things just aren't worth remembering now that you are gone.   
  
**2:09 p.m.** My meeting with the Hudsons is over, thank God. If I had to spend another minute listening to those two gripe over who gets _what_, I think I might have just gone postal on someone. If you ask me, this is all bullshit. I mean, what the hell are "irreconcilable differences" anyway? Nothing is so "irreconcilable" that you can't work it out. You pledge to spend your life with someone-for better or worse, but when it comes down to it, what you really meant was "until it gets worse." Seriously, don't they know how lucky they are to have found someone who loved them enough to even make that sacred vow? Some people look for it their whole lives and never find it. Were we irreconcilable? Were things really so fucked up that we couldn't find a way to rise above it and fix them? Funny, I thought we'd already been through the hard part. I thought that we'd found what we were looking for-in each other. I guess I was wrong.   
  
**3:27 p.m.** Will called. It was nice to hear from him, though it wasn't a surprise. He's not one to forget days like this. We talked for more than an hour-mostly about work, how much he loves San Francisco-and his new girlfriend. He thinks she might actually be "the one." I waited a long time before I said anything again and I knew that my silence was met with sympathy on the other line, for he realized too late the mistake he had made at mentioning anything having to do with…_love_. I didn't want to make the guy feel worse than he already did, so when he asked me if I was okay, I gave him the answer he wanted to hear: "Of course, man. I'm fine." We both knew that I didn't really mean it.   
  
**4 p.m.** I'm outside smoking a cigarette. Shocked, are you? Well, I started the day after you left, if you must know. It was out of spite really, not because I actually like smoking. I did it mostly because of how much you hate the smell of them. Don't worry, I only have one a day. Two if I'm really feeling down. It's an ugly habit and I should stop. I have a lot of ugly habits-one of them is thinking of you. But I know I won't quit that one anytime soon. I probably never will.   
  
**4:52 p.m.** My secretary brings me a brown paper package. It's light and soft and for the first time all day, I feel somewhat happy. Sad, ain't it? It's the truth; nothing seems to get through to me these days. I'm more excited at the prospect that this might-in the slightest possibility-be from you than anything else. I know better than to think like that but I can't help it. It is my birthday. However, any chance at happiness is crushed by the address on the return label-it's from my parents. I don't bother to open it.   
  
**6:04 p.m.** There are train delays today, even more than usual. Today of all days, when I just want to get back to my apartment and take off my shoes and watch TV while nursing a cold beer, they are running late. I could take a taxi, but that would mean having to deter from my daily cycle. Wake up, take a shower, get dressed, catch the train, go to my office, read the paper, drink my coffee, eat my bagel, answer some calls, meet with clients, go to lunch, have a cigarette, catch the train home, collapse in front of the TV with beer and pretzels in hand. You see what's become of me? Do you see what mess of a man you've left behind? All I have left to hold on to is this silly routine and even that is starting to wear thin. It shouldn't be like this. I should be happy to be alive. I should be _living_ life rather than just watching it pass me by. I should be with you.   
  
**7:18 p.m.** The apartment seems smaller than it is. The heat from the furnace makes the air stuffy and the knob is broken so the only options here are to A. Turn it off and freeze my ass off or B. Leave it on and go get the fan to offset it a bit. I choose the latter. I sit here on the couch-yup, the one with that hideous shade of blue you insisted on getting-and stare at the wall, looking at pictures of you-of us-which still hang in the black and white frames we got from Pottery Barn. I remember the day we bought them. You were wearing a pair of khakis and a white button down shirt, your hair was up in a bun and you had your new boots on, the ones we searched all over SoHo for. You had just come from work at that place on 48th and Broadway and I met you there because you wanted to get some things for _your_ new apartment. That was the day I asked you to move in. I didn't expect you to answer right away, but you did. It was the happiest day of my life.   
  
**8:36 p.m.** I'm on my way to meet our favorite couple. They called me just as I was about to return my mother's _six_ messages. Good thing they rang when they did. I don't think I could stand talking to her today, though I really should. We're going to that bar the five of us went to every Friday night. Great. It's my birthday and I'm going to have to sit and watch the perfect couple in all their matrimonial bliss-alone. God do I wish you were here.   
  
**10:19 p.m.** I haven't been drinking all that much, but damn am I buzzed. And so are they. This is the high point of my fucking _month_, getting drunk with two of my best-no wait-two of my _only_ friends in the world. I remember when we all used to do this-the two of them, the two of us, and Will. A way of celebrating the end of another week of classes or work or whatever, even though it wasn't really as tough as we were making it out to be. We're having a fucking good time when it all comes to a screeching halt. In her drunken stupor, she mentions your name. Hearing it sends me reeling and I can feel the pain coming on, but I know better than to get pissed at her. It was just a mistake-a careless mistake. She looks sorry enough and so does he. I imagine the look on their faces isn't much different than the one Will had when I talked to him today. No one talks for some time and the silence is uncomfortable, but I know what they're thinking. That I'm pathetic, that I need to give you up, that I need to get over this already-because you are most certainly over me. They try to hide that from me because they're trying to help me get through this. They haven't done a very good job. I still miss you so much.   
  
**10:31 p.m.** She broke the silence by saying she was sorry and from the look on her face, she really meant it. I was fine with that, I accepted that, I couldn't be mad at her. After all, she just wants me to be happy, she just wants to see me smile again. So do I. They had no intention of talking about this any more, but I had one last thing to say. I asked her if she could do me a favor next time she talked to you. "Anything," she replied earnestly. I was looking down at my hands, but I could feel their eyes on me, waiting on pins and needles to hear my request. I took one last sip of my beer and glanced up at them, my eyes brimming with tears. "Tell her I said hello."   
  
**11:56 p.m.** I lay in bed, looking at my surroundings, the sad remnants of our life together. As always, before I surrender to sleep, I fill my last moments before slumber with thoughts of you. I think of that morning you left, forty-eight Mondays ago, wearing those same khaki pants and white buttoned shirt, your worn SoHo boots on your feet, your long, shiny hair falling around your face. You were on the brink of tears as we hugged and when I asked you if you still loved me, you took a deep breath and let out a big sigh. But you never said a word. I took your silence as a "no." And that was it. It was a messy departure, if you ask me. It took you awhile to reach for the knob and when you did, one of your bags fell from your grasp. So I held it open for you. That's what you wanted me to do, right? Let you go. Give you freedom. Let you find out who you really are. Open the door to a whole new life. But you see, you didn't have to leave to find out who are you and where you're meant to be. The answer is right here-in me.   
  
Wherever you are, I hope you're happy. I hope that you've found what you were looking for and that your search has brought you to a better place than I could have ever brought you to. I was only fifteen when I met you, but I knew then…just like I know now…that you are the only person I will ever love. I should have seen this coming though. From the beginning, it was more complex and twisted than anything ever should be. But we got through it, didn't we? We discovered the truth and it gave us more freedom than I could have ever imagined. I should have known something _that good_ wasn't meant to last.   
  
Do you see what you've done to me? How did my life come to this? You left me here in this house of memories, cold and vacant, where the darkness spills in through the windows and covers me, causing my mind to betray me and take me back to the time I so desperately want to belong to. I cry for you…not any more or any less than the day you left…and hope that you hear my weeping. I hope you know how much I still love you.   
  
And that is what I don't understand. What was it that made you leave? Was it the books I read? My taste in music? The way I cooked? Or was it my job? Did I seem unsure? Did I not make you happy? Did I not show you how much I cared? Maybe the answer is the one that has been staring me in the face all along-maybe you never loved me the way that I loved you.   
  
**11:59 p.m.** My eyelids are weighed down by exhaustion; the comfort of sleep will soon be mine. And I'll wake up tomorrow and this will start all over again. And I'll take it as it comes, simply because I have no other options. This is the only way I know how to live. This is the only way I know how to live my life without you in it.   
  
I close my eyes and my body relaxes. I am about to fall into the euphoric dream world when my telephone rings. I open my eyes and a small smile makes its way on to my face. With a hopeful heart, I pick it up, and bring the receiver to my ear.   
  
I hope it's you.   
  
**[ The End ]**  
  



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